


Monstrous

by dustandroses



Series: Monstrous [1]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Angst, Community: fall_for_sx, Community: tamingthemuse, Discussions of Graphic Violence, Established Relationship, Happy Ending, M/M, Noncanonical Character Death, Psychological Horror, Spook Me Multi-Fandom Halloween Ficathon, dark themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-08
Updated: 2012-12-08
Packaged: 2017-11-20 14:49:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/586547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustandroses/pseuds/dustandroses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somewhere in Sunnydale there's a monster that's kidnapping men, and mutilating them before it finally kills them.  The Scoobies are doing their best to track it down, but when it strikes too close to home, they're suddenly under enormous pressure to find this one before it's too late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Monstrous

**Author's Note:**

> **Beta:** Ozsaur, my hero and shit  
>  **Prompt Notes:** Inspiration for this story taken from the Live Journal Spook Me Halloween challenge prompt: Maniac and the Live Journal Community TamingtheMuse prompts #327: Rough, #328: Conformity and #332: If You Can't Beat Them, Trick Them  
>  **Notes:** This story had its origin in Ozsaur's fertile imagination, but I took it, and twisted it, and made it mine. Then she came back in and helped me wrestle it into submission when it threatened to overwhelm me, so much thanks goes to her.  
>  Also - thanks to Trillingstar for helping to keep me sane while this whole thing was going on. I couldn't have done it without you!  
>  **Please Note:** Dark Themes means it has elements of darkness, but for those that worry about such things, there is a happy ending.

  


  
  
Xander wakes up slowly, stiff, sore and uncomfortable. Cold. It’s too cold. He reaches for the blankets that even in his groggy state he knows Spike is hogging. There’s nothing there. No sheets. No blanket. No blanket-hogging vampire. For that matter, there’s no mattress. His eyes pop open, but there’s no light, either. He feels around in panic, heart pounding, but nothing is where it’s supposed to be.  
  
He sits there, his mind racing, trying to figure out what to do. He opens his mouth to say something, although he isn’t sure what, but closes it with a snap when Spike’s words come to mind.  
  
 _Not all demons can hear as well as vamps, Junior. If you’re hiding from something, the last thing you want to do is let it know where you are. Keep your head and stay quiet. It might not be easy, but it might save your life._  
  
Xander sits in the dark, trying to calm his breathing, but it still sounds loud in his ears. At least he’s not screaming. Which is good, since the last thing he wants to do is attract the attention of the big, nasty demon that must have brought him here.  
  
He’s in the dark, kidnapped by some demon or other, and its cold. Why does this always happen to him?  
  
  


XXXXXXXXXX

  
  
When Spike showed up for patrol, all the kiddies at the Watcher’s flat were discouraged and frustrated.  
  
“No luck finding the demons you’re hunting for, then?”  
  
Xander shook his head. “Hrothra eat tongues, but they don't cut your balls off, leave black burn marks on you, or otherwise mutilate your body,” he said, slamming his heavy book closed and dropping his forehead down on it, his shoulders slumped in fatigue. Spike knew Xander had to be exhausted if he was barely able to work up his usual shudder at the thought of some demon removing his testicles.  
  
“And Koronthasa demons take the – um… scrotum and balls but they don't want the tongues,” Willow chimed in, blushing heavily for having said the actual words, despite the fact they’d been using the terms for close to a week now. “And can I just say ewww?”  
  
“I’ll double your ewww and raise you a yuck.” Xander mumbled.  
  
Spike held back his grin. Junior wasn’t exhausted enough to drop the jokes. If he ever did, Spike would have to go looking for the pod, because he wouldn’t be Xander without the awful jokes and puns. Damn it all if he hadn’t picked up another of those pop culture references Xander was always spouting. That boy was rubbing off on him, and wasn’t that a pleasant thought. Unfortunately, Giles asked Spike a question, interrupting his fantasy.  
  
“You’re certain you’ve never heard of a demon species that feeds on the tongues _and_ the testicles of their victims?”  
  
The Watcher had asked Spike that a dozen times in the last couple of weeks, but Spike’s answer remained the same. “Sorry, Watcher, but no. I know of a few that are fond of munching on tongues, but none that eat both, and are so careful about extracting them from the bodies first.”  
  
“Maybe it isn’t eating them both.” Glinda blushed when everyone turned her way, her stammer immediately becoming more pronounced with the attention. “Wuh-we’re assuming th-th-that the demons are eating them, but all we know for sure is that they’re taking the tongue, and the testicles with them. Th-the tongues are cut out with precision and care, and is that really necessary if all th-they’re going to do with them is eat them?”  
  
“But they’re not using them for any ritual that we can find, and it, or they, have killed one a week for three months now. What else could they need that many tongues for?” Willow’s puzzled voice wavered. They were all exhausted, working late into the night to try and solve this puzzle, and still no one had a clue what was doing all the killing, or why.  
  
Xander turned his head, resting his cheek on his book, but keeping his eyes closed. “Maybe there’s more than one demon? One that likes balls served over a bed of rice and another…”  
  
Spike barked out a laugh. “…who likes tongue sliced thin with lettuce and mayo on rye!”  
  
“What? We have a demonic deli in town?”  
  
They all grimaced at the Slayer’s question, except Spike, who knew of several, but wasn’t about to mention that to this bunch.  
  
“As disgusting as it sounds to us, that could easily be what’s happening.” The Watcher’s glasses came off as the kiddies all turned to him in shock. “Just as we find certain organs of farm animals delicacies, so demons have their own favorites.”  
  
“That’s true, Watcher, but why would they stop with the testicles and tongue? Human liver is a prized delicacy among the Ragarnith, and fresh human hearts would bring in a pretty penny in the right kitchens. Both of those are totally ignored. For that matter, blood is a favored marinade in many demon restaurants, and the blood of the victims is totally wasted, spattered as it is across the walls and floors as they bleed to death…”  
  
“Yes, thanks for that graphic description, Spike. I’m sure none of us had plans for eating…” Giles glanced around at the disgusted looks on everyone’s faces, “ever again.”  
  
Spike grinned proudly. It wasn’t easy proving he was still evil around this bunch, stuck as he was between the shackle of the chip and his fondness for the boy. The boy in question had turned decidedly pale. “Looking a little green around the gills there, Junior,” he teased Xander. “Sure you’re up to patrolling tonight?”  
  
Spike wouldn’t mind if they did take the night off, he could think of better things to do than hunt for a demon that didn’t seem to exist. He could take Xander home and remind him what a tongue was really good for – both human and demon. That would put both of them in a much better mood.  
  
“So are there demon restaurants in the area, Spike?” the slayer asked.  
  
“I’ve heard tell of one or two.”  
  
He didn’t want to point them out to the Slayer, so her question made him wary. There was no need for her to go rampaging through them without reason. Well, it might be a bit of fun to watch, but it would cause Spike no end of trouble. Nature of the beast, the demon retail and service industries had to be wily and on their toes to keep their shops safe and profitable. If he got the shop keepers and restaurateurs on his case; he’d never have a moment’s peace.  
  
“They mostly serve demon dishes; meals from other dimensions, things that are hard to find around these parts – for the demon hungry for a taste of home. Not many have human on the menu.”  
  
Red popped up with a question that showed her ignorance of the demon population. “Demons get homesick?”  
  
Spike glared at her. What the hell did Rupert teach this lot, anyway?  
  
Xander asked with a frown, “I know I’m going to regret this, but why don’t they carry human dishes? There are lots of demons that eat humans.”  
  
Spike shrugged. “You lot are just about everywhere, aren’t you? If a demon feels peckish for a bite of human, he picks one up off the street, takes him home and chops him up. Roasts him up in the oven, or cooks him in a pot of stew. Maybe he invites a few friends over, has a barbeque. No need to shell out good dosh for human when they’re free for the picking around here.”  
  
“I need addresses.” The Slayer headed for the weapons chest, her determined voice promising mayhem for the demon population out looking for a bit of a nosh.  
  
“Look, Slayer. How about I do some snooping around first. Find out if any of these places even has human on the menu before you go ripping into them.”  
  
“Yes, I think that’s a good idea, Spike. Let us know how large these establishments are as well, and how busy, how many staff are on hand, that sort of thing.”  
  
Spike rolled his eyes. Leave it to the Watcher to turn a casual visit into a major reconnoiter.  
  
“Giles…” Buffy started to object.  
  
“I don’t want you charging into one of those restaurants only to discover their staff, or their clientele, is larger and more violent than you’re expecting. You may need back up _if_ we decide it’s even necessary for you to visit them.”  
  
The Slayer looked ready for an argument, but Junior defused the situation, as usual.  
  
“Guess we’d better saddle up for patrol, if you’re going to go restaurant hopping later.” Xander dragged himself out of his chair and grabbed an axe out of the weapons chest. “Unless you’ll need a research partner?”  
  
“Most definitely not,” the Watcher said.  
  
Spike was glad Giles had stomped on that offer; it might raise too many questions if Spike was the one to refuse to take Junior along. Either way, Xander wasn’t getting anywhere near a demon deli.  
  
“You’re the only person in our group that matches the profile of the victims we’ve run across. You will not go anywhere near those restaurants at any time, even if we discover there is no connection to our demon. It’s too dangerous for any human. Is that clear?”  
  
Spike almost felt a moment’s comradeship with the Watcher. One thing was certain, old Ripper felt strongly for all the members of his motley crew. Fortunately for Spike, the feeling of camaraderie soon faded. He had other things on his mind tonight, like how to get Xander home and well shagged, and still manage to check out a demon eatery or two.  
  
  


XXXXXXXXXX

  
  
Xander shivers in the cold. The room is still totally dark, but he feels better now that he’s calmed down, and has done some exploring. Not that he’s found much.  
  
The room is small, only about eight feet square. Slightly smaller than the spare bedroom Xander had turned into an office. Spike even talked him into making a bookshelf, which he’s already filled with books that he actually reads. Spike has threatened that if Xander ever tells anyone he likes to read, he’ll find a way to skin him alive, chip or no chip.  
  
He’d never tell. Xander likes the way Spike relaxes around him, letting the real Spike shine through the cracks in the tough shell he’s built around himself. If Xander betrayed his confidences like that, he’d never see another of those moments again. So he keeps Spike’s secrets. He kinda likes having a secret lover. It makes him feel special, makes him feel like a secret agent or something; hiding things from his friends, always having an alibi, talking in code.  
  
He misses Spike. He hasn’t been awake for more than a couple of hours, as far as he can tell, and he’s already jonesing for Spike. He’s an addict. What the hell, thinking about Spike is better than sitting in the dark waiting for a demon or sorcerer to cut his balls off, and cut out his tongue. He shudders. He’s not sure which of those things actually bothers him the most.  
  
They’re both pretty disturbing, especially since from what the police reports say, they’re done without any anesthesia. Actually, disturbing might not be a strong enough word. He doesn’t want to think about it, so he wraps his arms tighter around his legs, and thinks about Spike instead.  
  
  


XXXXXXXXXX

  
  
“Xander, duck!”  
  
The fledge swung at empty air as Xander dropped to the ground. Fresh from the grave, the fledge was too dumb to realize that with his quicker reflexes, he could have aimed a kick at Xander while he was unbalanced and easily toppled him right over. It was too late by the time he figured that one out, because Junior had popped back up, and staked the lout where he stood.  
  
Of course, the vamp Xander had been fighting when the new one had snuck up behind him was still standing there, looking pissed off at being ignored. He grabbed Xander from behind while the dust from the other vamp was still settling, pulled Xander tight against his chest, and moved in for the bite.  
  
“No!”  
  
With a shout, Spike started running, but Xander grabbed the vamp’s thumb in a move he and Spike had been practicing for weeks, and by the time the vamp realized something was wrong, Junior had dislocated his thumb and wiggled out of the stunned fledge’s grasp.  
  
Spike grabbed Xander’s arm and pulled him upright; he didn’t like seeing Junior on his knees in front of anyone but himself. Then he pushed Xander behind him.  
  
“Hey! That’s my meal you’re shoving around!”  
  
This idiot was just asking for a good staking. He obviously hadn’t noticed that Spike’s scent was all over Xander, or he would have backed away politely the moment Spike showed up. That was fine with Spike; he needed to work off a little steam anyway. Xander had insisted they not cut patrol short simply because Spike would prefer an evening of snogging on the couch, and he was feeling a bit frustrated, so he took it out on the fledge.  
  
He played around with the dolt for a while, letting him think he was getting somewhere, but every time he thought he had Spike beat, he’d knock the fledge’s feet out from under him again. He was looking more than a little rough around the edges when Spike heard Xander moving restlessly on his tombstone seat. His heavy sigh made it clear to Spike that it was time to wrap this one up.  
  
“C’mon, Spike. End it already.” Xander’s bored voice said.  
  
The badly damaged fledge stumbled back three or four feet from the force of Spike’s roundhouse kick, then he lumbered forward a step before falling to his knees, wiping the blood out of his eyes with the hand that wasn’t attached to the dislocated shoulder and the broken wrist.  
  
“Yeah, Spike,” the fledge gasped, “just end it already. Please?”  
  
Spike stood where he was, arms folded across his chest, and considered the fledge’s plea. So Junior was bored, was he? Spike turned his back and walked away. Out of the corner of his eye, Spike could see Xander look at Spike, then look at the fledge, then back at Spike, who was getting farther and farther away.  
  
Then Spike turned, almost faster than the eye could see, and whipped a stake at the fledge. It was spot on, of course, and the vamp blew apart in an explosion of dust, the incredulous look on his face hanging in the air for a second or two, like the afterimage from a photo flash.  
  
Xander laughed delightedly and charged Spike. He jumped at the last moment, sending the two of them crashing to the ground, rolling across the grass. They came to a stop with Xander on top, sprawled across Spike. Xander pulled himself up onto his elbows, his eyes practically sparkling as he stared down at Spike.  
  
“That was _seriously_ hot.”  
  
Spike lifted one eyebrow disdainfully. “I thought you were bored?”  
  
“You were dragging that poor vamp through the mud a bit longer than necessary, but you made up for it with your big finale.”  
  
Spike lifted his hips, rubbing his hard cock against Xander’s hipbone. “You think that’s big…”  
  
Xander smiled, dropping down to give Spike a peck on the lips, then jumped to his feet before Spike could stop him to deepen it. Well, Spike could have stopped him. Unlike those fledges, _he_ knew how to use his strength and speed to the best advantage, but he let Xander get away this time. After all, the longer the chase the sweeter the reward.  
  
Xander held out a hand. Spike took it, and Xander tugged him to his feet. He kept Spike’s hand, walking backwards and pulling him along. “C’mon. We’ll finish this section, then we can call it a night.”  
  
“Don’t forget, my crypt is in here in Restfield. It’s got a nice big bed and lots of pillows. You’d like it, I’m sure.” He delivered the temptation finale. “I have Twinkies.”  
  
One side of Xander’s mouth turned up in a wicked grin, and Spike felt proud to claim that he’d had a hand in corrupting this one. Junior may feel he’s on his way to manhood at the ripe old age of nineteen, but he was a boy to Spike. Nothing wrong with that, though. Spike always had liked ‘em young.  
  
As they headed down the path, Spike felt a tingling between his shoulder blades, reminding him that his back was far too exposed. He turned around, but couldn’t sense anything on the evening air.  
  
Xander walked back to him, pulling out a stake, but Spike shook his head. They continued down the path, Xander walking close, their arms brushing and their fingers tangling together.  
  
  


XXXXXXXXXX

  
  
Feeling his way along the wall, Xander walks slowly, using the wall to guide him. It doesn’t take long to get to the corner, then he turns and follows that wall, slowing down after a few steps, worrying about the bucket. He knows he’ll run into it at some point, but he’d rather it didn’t make a lot of noise when he does.  
  
He’s doing his best to follow Spike’s advice. He’s keeping his cool, staying quiet, not attracting unwanted attention. At least he doesn’t think he is. How is he supposed to know? It’s getting harder and harder to not shout, or scream, or do _something_. His nerves are ragged. All he can do is hope that someone figures out where he is and rescues him before he falls apart, and does something stupid like beat on the door with his fists.  
  
The bucket scrapes the wall with a grating sound and he stops walking, giving himself a moment to let his heart stop pounding. Then he realizes he has no idea how he’s supposed to do this. The bucket is dirty, and smells like piss, and he wipes his hands self consciously, remembering how gross it had felt. He’d ended up spitting on his hands, and wiping them off on his pants legs after he first found it.  
  
He doesn’t want to touch that bucket again. Finally, he kneels on the floor. He can feel the walls on both sides of him, and smell the dried piss in the bucket. He’s close enough. He takes care of business, sighing with relief, he’s been holding on to that for too long.  
  
He’s been sitting in the corner opposite the bucket, so Xander decides to keep going in the same direction, to make a full circuit around the room, like he did the first time. When he gets to the door, which is the only thing that breaks the monotony of this room’s bare cinderblock walls, he could swear he hears a very faint whirring noise. He freezes, holding his breath, but the room is completely quiet. It must be his imagination.  
  
He tries the door, but has no more luck than the last time getting it open. If he had a paperclip, or tooth picks, or something, he could at least _pretend_ to try and pick the lock, but there’s nothing in his pockets. His belt is gone, even his shoelaces. He’s wearing jeans and a t-shirt, which is what he was wearing the last time he remembers, but his jacket is gone. So is his underwear.  
  
He can’t think about that right now. The door is cool against his sweaty face as he presses his forehead against it. He takes a few minutes to calm his breathing and still the trembling in his hands. When he’s calmed down as much as he expects he can, he continues his walk around the walls.  
  
This time when he hears the whirring noise he stumbles. Suddenly he remembers the cameras he saw in the Initiative, and recognizes that sound. He leans against the wall, gasping for breath. The demon can see him in the dark. He’s watching Xander, _even in the dark_.  
  
His mind is racing, but he can’t make sense of anything. He starts walking, and hits the wall with a thump and a low “Oof!” He turns, and starts walking again; he’s almost back to his corner. He laughs bitterly at that. He has a corner. Jesus. He has to get out of here soon, or he’s going to go crazy.  
  
He feels the wall before he hits it this time and slides to the floor, wrapping his arms around himself and concentrating on the fact that it can see him. He needs to be careful to not show any fear, because Spike says that showing fear is like waving a red flag at a bull when it comes to facing down a demon. It’s going to be so much harder now that he knows it can see him.  
  
He blinks his eyes, willing his tears back. Show no fear. Where does he know that from? Is it a military quote? Or from some history book he read in high school? It doesn’t matter. It’s his new mantra: show no fear.  
  
Show no fear. Show no fear. Show no fear.  
  
  


XXXXXXXXXX

  
  
Spike timed his strike perfectly. There. His target was momentarily distracted and he leapt across the back of the couch, tumbling them both to the floor. The remote control flew out of Xander’s hand, landing with a crack half way across the room, the batteries scattering over the floor.  
  
Xander tried to use his weight to his advantage, but Spike’s superior strength won in the end, and Spike came out on top, his knees on either side of Xander’s hips, holding him down. Xander tried to wiggle out, but Spike held him fast, laughing at his efforts. Finally, Xander stopped, arms falling out to the sides as he surrendered.  
  
“I give up, already.”  
  
Spike frowned down at him. “Well, that’s all well and good when it’s me who’s got you trapped, but what if it was some vamp, or a Fyarl, or that venom spitting snake thing we had to deal with week before last? You going to just surrender to an oversized cobra? All in! Tag, you’re it? You’ve got to keep fighting, mate. You can’t let them take you without a fight.”  
  
Xander shook his head, one hand running up and down Spike’s arm. “I know you worry about me, Spike. The frail human and all. And I really appreciate all the fighting and self defense lessons, but I’ve survived my whole life on the Hellmouth, and I’m not going to die anytime soon. I’m too stubborn for that. I’m going to be here for a long time. You’re going to be trying to get me out of your hair for years before I finally kick the bucket.”  
  
Spike’s heart hurt, constricting painfully in his chest at that plainspoken declaration of his deepest fears. “Never happening.”  
  
Xander smiled at his heartfelt assertion. He reached up and pulled Spike’s head down into a kiss, a sweet, soft kiss that curled Spike’s toes, it was so tender and loving. How the hell Spike had been so lucky to find this man, he’d never know. But he wasn’t letting go, not for anything in the world.  
  
He felt Xander’s body tense, right before he found himself on his back, staring up into Xander’s mischievous grin. Xander was on his feet, already on his way down the hall to the bedroom.  
  
“Tag, you’re it!”  
  
  


XXXXXXXXXX

  
  
When they kiss, Spike bites his bottom lip, sucking at the sting, soothing it with his tongue. Xander sighs into his mouth, soft lips and agile, wicked tongue, dull human teeth that grow sharp little points before fading back to flat again. Kissing his way down Spike’s jaw, Xander smiles against Spike’s skin when his flickering tongue makes Spike arch his neck into Xander’s sucking bite.  
  
Holding himself above Spike, Xander stares down into blue eyes as they rock together. Dear god, it feels so good. Spike always feels this good, and he loves that Spike is willing to share this with him. Thighs clamped tight around his waist, Spike urges him to move faster, gasping his name as Xander gives in to his demands. Long, deep strokes and short, powerful ones, Xander grinds his hips into Spike’s, rolling them with a twist that makes them both shudder.  
  
This is when he feels most alive - when he’s buried balls deep inside of Spike. Spike has become his center, and that should be scary, but it’s not. He kisses Spike again, trying to share with him how he feels, and he thinks that Spike gets it, because when the kiss finally breaks, Spike smiles at him – honest and open, and nothing like his usual smirk or sneer – a smile that’s just for Xander.  
  
“Oh god, Spike -”  
  
Ba _doom!_  
  
Xander jumps, gasping as he realizes that he’s lying on the floor of that damned cold room. Alone. He holds back and unexpected sob, as he realizes that Spike isn't there. He isn't home, he isn't in his bed. He's suddenly so homesick, it brings tears to his eyes. He ducks his head, refusing to give the demon the pleasure of seeing him cry.  
  
He realizes with a start that he can see. The room is no longer pitch dark. The light isn't bright, but it's enough to see that something is different. There’s a paper grocery bag on the floor next to the door. The slamming of the door must have woken him up. Looking around, the room is exactly what he expected, cold concrete and unpainted cinderblock. He wills his heart to stop pounding as he gets up and staggers toward the bag.  
  
He checks the door first, but it’s still locked. Then he carefully opens the bag, worried that it's a trap of some sort. Nothing jumps out at him, so he sits down, and tips the bag over. Out come a variety of things he’s been thinking about recently, and is provisionally happy to see. He lines them up in front of him. There’s a deli sandwich of some sort; he doesn’t unwrap it to find out what it is, despite the fact that his stomach starts growling as soon as he sees it. There are two big bottles of water, a bag of chips, a bunch of wet naps, and some napkins, all of which are definitely of the good.  
  
There’s another t-shirt and a pair of sweats that look like they might fit him. He sniffs them, but all he smells is new clothes. They have sharp creases in them like they’ve been folded for a long time, so he thinks they probably are new. That’s good. What he’s wearing isn’t going to last long, sleeping on a gritty, concrete floor.  
  
The last thing in the bag is a blanket. It’s thin and kind of worn, but it smells clean. He folds the clothes into the bag, and puts the blanket on top of it. From what he remembers of the police reports that Willow cracked, the men were all missing for three days before the police found their – he shies away from that thought, and concentrates of three days. He thinks he’s probably been here about six or eight hours, so he’s got a little more than two and a half days before… Yeah, definitely not going there. Just two and a half days. Period.  
  
Hopefully, Spike and Buffy and the others will rescue him way before that, but he should probably plan for three days. He really doubts that the demon is going to starve him, considering that he’s feeding Xander now, so he probably doesn’t need to try and make the food and water last, but it’s better to be safe than sorry. So he’ll drink one bottle of water and save the other. He’ll only eat half of the sandwich. Maybe. He’s pretty hungry. If he has a chance to fight back, he’ll need to be at full strength.  
  
Okay, he’ll eat half of the sandwich, then decide when it’s gone what he’s going to do with the rest. No soda, and no chocolate or sweets? This guy needs to learn that if he’s planning on keeping his hostages happy, he needs to offer a regular supply of chocolate and other important snack foods. This is not negotiable. When the demon comes back, he’ll be sure and make that clear.  
  
  


XXXXXXXXXX

  
  
“We need to know what he’s doing with the parts he’s taking.” Giles said, wearily.  
  
Spike sighed. They’d been over and over this a million times. He’d thought they’d be ready for patrol when he got to the Watcher’s flat; they’d spent the whole day working on this already. But here he sat, listening to the same tired discussion.  
  
“What’s so important about a stupid _tongue_?” Unsurprisingly, the Slayer was in charge of asking the inane questions today.  
  
“Are you kidding me?” Red asked. “Tongues are crucial. You can’t taste food without a tongue. You can’t communicate without a tongue, or at least not nearly as easily.”  
  
“Not to mention kissing. Kissing would be totally boring without a tongue.”  
  
Spike smirked at Xander’s comment, and carried it further. “Oral sex would be a disaster.”  
  
“Thank you, Spike, for bringing the conversation down to its lowest possible denominator, as usual.”  
  
Spike waved two fingers casually in Giles’ direction. “Any time, Watcher. I’m always glad to help.”  
  
Glinda seemed distracted. “I guess tongues are rather important, aren’t they?” She reached for a book that was sitting on the coffee table in front of her, and started leafing through it.  
  
“Well, just look at our language; there are references to the tongue everywhere.” Willow said. “Think of how many phrases are tied to the use of your tongue. You can speak in tongues, or be tongue tied, wag your tongue or hold your tongue.”  
  
“I had a slip of the tongue…” the slayer added.  
  
“Bite your tongue, young lady!” was Xander’s contribution.  
  
Even Giles got into the spirit of thing. “Tongue twister, tongue in cheek, mother tongue.”  
  
“I had another one,” Xander said, snapping his fingers, “but I can’t remember it. It’s right on the tip of my tongue…”  
  
Glinda looked up from her book with a smile. “You silver tongued devil, you.”  
  
“At least you don’t have a sharp tongue.” Red threw in.  
  
“Stick out your tongue and say aaahhh!”  
  
The Slayer supplied the visual for that one, and Spike was about to ask her to shut it, when Glinda said: “They say the tongue is the strongest muscle in the body, because it has the power to break a heart.”  
  
“Awww…” Red looked at Glinda all mushy-like, as if she was going to say something sickeningly sweet, but fortunately, Glinda kept talking.  
  
“I thought of something a moment ago. I think it may have a bearing on what we’re dealing with.”  
  
With every eye on her, Tara blushed, but braved the attention to tell them her thoughts. “The t-tongue has a lot of power in fuh-folk magic, and in dream interpretation it expresses a nuh-number of significant influences. It can be seen as a fuh-phallic symbol, and an extended tongue can indicate aggression or defiance. My grandmother told me to stay away from the tongue, because it’s often used in darker magics.”  
  
“That’s very good, Tara.” Giles got up from his seat and hunted for a book on one of the shelves Xander had built for him last month. “This may be the direction we need to move our search into.” He pulled a book out and sat back down, paging through the book rapidly. “Most of the dream interpretation that Watcher’s deal with concerns women, of course, but I can remember reading once about the testicles being connected to a man’s sense of self-worth, and equated with vulnerability and insecurity.”  
  
“Animal scrotum were often used in hedge magic in the past,” Glinda added. “I have a book of my mother’s that mentions a number of spells that require it.”  
  
Red was reading a page that Glinda had marked, and she looked up suddenly. “Giles, this mentions the Cult of Mithras.” She read: “‘When the blood was spilt over the worshipers, they were _taken over_ by the life energy of the sacrificed animals.’”  
  
“You’re saying that the blood that’s spattered all over the place at the crime scenes could be intentional.” Spike asked. He had to admit, that made a lot of sense to him, much more sense than it being randomly tossed around.  
  
“So the Cult of Midas is doing all this?”  
  
Spike rolled his eyes at the Slayer’s latest attempt to prove she was a brainless as she looked.  
  
“Mithras,” Giles corrected her automatically. “I doubt it very much.” Giles took off his glasses and started polishing. That was never a good sign. “The Mithraists intentionally slaughtered a _bull_ as a symbol of regeneration and fertility. By shedding the blood of the bull, they nourished the universe against the forces of darkness that undermine life.”  
  
“But the idea is similar.” Red spoke slowly, as she thought it through. “Maybe the blood they’re finding at the crime scenes was intentionally spread out over the room. The center of the room usually has puddles of blood. If they are pouring it over their own heads…”  
  
“Or if someone else is doing it. Maybe it _is_ two demons,” the Slayer said.  
  
“Or maybe it’s not a demon at all.”  
  
They all turned to Tara, and Spike nodded. He’d been thinking the same thing.  
  
The Watcher frowned at the glasses in his hand. “Yes. This stinks of witchcraft or sorcery of the darkest kind.”  
  
“So we’re dealing with humans?” the slayer asked, dropping into a chair. “Great.”  
  
  


XXXXXXXXXX

  
  
“Why are you doing this?”  
  
It isn’t what Xander plans to say the first time he sees the creature that holds him captive. But he looks so very _not_ evil, that it startles Xander into carelessness. He’s been expecting a monster, and instead he gets the boy next door. That is, if you live in a really strange neighborhood where the boy next door meets his hostage with a Taser in one hand and a grocery bag in the other.  
  
The Taser is the kind that works two different ways: it has two electrodes attached to wires that can strike through clothes and deliver a huge jolt. It can also be used as a regular stun gun after the electrodes are discharged. It only has to be touched to the skin. Xander had done some research on them while the Initiative was causing so much trouble; they were nothing to play around with. If he got stunned with one, he’d be incapacitated for some time, and he hates the thought of being helpless while someone dangerous is in the room.  
  
The guy holding the Taser is kind of average, probably in his late twenties or early thirties. He’s shorter than Xander by a couple of inches, if Xander’s judging right from his spot on the other side of the room. His light brown hair is straighter than Xander’s, and cut shorter, and he has a lot of muscles – the kind you get from working out at the gym, not from working construction. His clothes are expensive looking, and not one hair is out of place. He’s wearing a tie that’s been pulled loose at the neck. He sure doesn’t look like some evil sorcerer who practices black magic.  
  
He sets the grocery bag down on the floor, never taking his eyes off Xander.  
  
“You have to stay well hydrated. You only drank one of the water bottles I left you. That’s not good enough. You must drink all the water I give you, and eat all the food.”  
  
“Is there any chocolate in that bag?”  
  
If Xander’s question takes him by surprise, he doesn’t show it. “No.”  
  
“That’s not good enough,” Xander mimics.  
  
The man raises his Taser, which had started to droop as he talked, but he doesn’t move any further into the room.  
  
Xander crosses his arms defiantly. “If you want me to eat what you give me, you have to offer me something worth eating. Chocolate is the ultimate bribe. All other snack foods are second best, but they still have their own appeal…”  
  
“You will eat everything I give you, or I’ll stun you, tie you up and force feed you.” He speaks in a monotone, as if it doesn’t really matter to him which course Xander chooses. “Then I’ll pour the water down your throat, and you’ll drink it or you’ll drown. Those are the only options. Is that clear?” For some reason, his monotonous delivery sends a chill up Xander’s spine. His threat is much more frightening than if he’d shouted the same words.  
  
“Very clear.” Xander swallows. “But bribing me with chocolate would be much easier on both of us. Or Twinkies. I like Twinkies.”  
  
The guy’s brows draw down in a frown – the first real emotion Xander’s seen. “You just don’t give up, do you?”  
  
“Not often. My parents say I’m pretty damn stubborn.”  
  
“I’m pretty damn stubborn, too.” The man clenches his fist. “Keeping the light on is a privilege. If you disobey me, I’ll turn it off again.”  
  
Xander shakes his head, despite the fact that he hates the thought of returning to the dark again. Show no fear, he reminds himself. “See, we’re moving into negative reinforcement here. Positive reinforcement is just as effective, and gets you a happy hostage. A happy hostage is a healthy hostage, and isn’t that better for everyone?” Xander smiles winningly. The lack of response is discouraging, but he refuses to show it.  
  
“If you drink all three bottles of water and eat all your food before I bring your next meal, I’ll consider it.”  
  
He steps back and grabs the doorknob, and Xander jumps in, before he can close the door and lock Xander away in the silence. “What are you getting out of this? I mean, why the tongue and the testicles? What’s up with that?”  
  
He’s obviously surprised that Xander knows why he’s here. Then his face goes blank again, but his eyes are hard, burning into Xander’s. Xander’s heart starts pumping wildly, although he doesn’t understand why.  
  
“I know you. Your words seduce and promise, but it’s all lies. Ugly words and dirty deeds, sapping me of my strength and virility. I’m merely taking back what belongs to me. I’ll consume your body and cleanse my own with your blood.”  
  
Despite his soft, unemotional words, Xander can feel the intensity of his hatred from clear across the room. Did he say consume? He’s so surprised, that he almost doesn’t think to defend himself.  
  
“Hey, whoa!” He throws up his hands in the classic ‘time out’ signal known to all men from childhood. “I never did anything to you. The first time I ever saw you was ten minutes ago! And I would never do anything with you, even if I had. I have a boyfriend. Well, he’s sort of a boyfriend, except he’s not really a boy. More like a hundred and twenty-five year old, bloodsucking fiend of the night friend.”  
  
“A bloodsucker? You mean a vampire?”  
  
Xander cringes from the disgust in the guy’s voice. He gets the idea that he probably shouldn’t have said that, but it’s too late to take it back now.  
  
“So you _know_ about the monsters that live here? I had no idea that such creatures existed before I moved to Sunnydale. With the extraordinarily high crime and death rates, I figured this would be the perfect town for me. I could do what I needed, and not have to worry about being discovered. I had no idea.”  
  
He laughs; a bitter, ugly sound. “And they call _me_ a monster.”  
  
He pulls the door shut behind him, and Xander is left in the silence.  
  
  


XXXXXXXXXX

  
  
Spike laid in bed for hours that night, watching over Xander. Not that he particularly needed protecting while sleeping in their bed, but Spike felt the need to watch him anyway. Usually after Junior had drifted off to sleep, Spike got up and went out prowling, or watched TV. Creature of the night, after all; this was his time to be up and about.  
  
He needed to be near Xander tonight, because finding out that this latest monster could very well be human was screwing with his mind. He hated the thought that he couldn’t protect Xander. It ate at his self-esteem, his pride in who he was. He was William the Bloody, and yet he was powerless against a mere human.  
  
Spike realized that he was trembling with pent up anger, so he eased out of bed, afraid he might wake Xander. Junior had a full day’s work tomorrow, before research, and then patrol. Spike had tried to talk Xander out of patrolling while this particular evil was haunting the Hellmouth, but Xander was almost as stubborn as Angelus, so he’d finally given up on that.  
  
Spike didn’t even try the TV. Late night cable was a miserable mess of infomercials, junk and repeats even on a good night. He did some light exercises, five hundred reps of push-ups, double that in sit-ups, which bled off some of his excess energy. But once that was done, he was back on his feet, wandering around the apartment. He didn’t think he had it in him to sit still enough for a book, but he wandered into the library, anyway.  
  
Xander was so proud of this room. It was just a mid-sized spare bedroom with a desk, and a few comfortable chairs with a low table between them. Junior had built a series of shelves for his prized possessions – Babylon 5 collector’s plates and Star Trek action figures still in the original boxes. When Spike had first seen them, back when Xander lived in his parent’s horrid basement, he’d wondered if they’d be worth anything on the market. He hadn’t gotten around to selling them, because that very first night, Xander had kissed him, all nerves and sweat and determination, smelling so strongly of pheromones that he nearly made that dank, musty basement bearable.  
  
Spike had never looked back. True, he was mostly biding his time with Junior the first few weeks, thinking he’d find an easy fix for his chip problem and then he’d be gone. But without his realizing it, his convenient shelter with cable, blood, and surprisingly good sex with a warm and funny boy had turned into something more. He’d convinced Xander to apply to another construction company, and when he got the job, Spike had insisted he save his money so he could get away from that awful basement.  
  
Of course, Xander’d asked Spike to come with him, and of course, Spike had hesitated for all of two seconds before saying yes. But the important thing had not turned out to be Spike’s new home, but the look of pride on Xander’s face when he realized he was good at something, and could be worth something, despite his parents’ neglect. These days, he wasn’t sure if he’d trade the boy, not even for his dark princess. There was no one Xander wanted more than Spike. And no one he saw when he looked at Spike, but Spike himself. That was worth more to Spike than just about anything he could imagine.  
  
Spike opened the shutters over the window, pulling up the sash to let in fresh air. Xander had made the shutters that covered all the windows of the apartment, because it was important to him that Spike be safe. He built the bookshelf on the opposite wall for Spike, too. He’d laughed when Spike told him they needed one, but he’d built it anyway. When he’d come home from work to find Spike loading the shelves with his random assortment of old, dusty hardbacks and well-thumbed paperbacks, he’d been stunned.  
  
He often joked about how Spike could read all those words, and not a picture in sight, but when Spike found a few Star Trek novelizations at a used bookstore he frequented, Xander’d read them both in days. He even made Spike go with him to the store to see if they had more.  
  
Spike hadn’t realized how extensive Xander’s collection of comic books was until Xander had built shelves into the closet in the library, and set them all out. Every single comic was encased in a Mylar sleeve with acid free back boards to provide support, and prevent spine stress and corner or edge wear. Organized by publisher, genre, year and title, Xander had amassed an impressive collection that he treated with care, even to the point of purchasing a small dehumidifier to use in the closet during the rainy season.  
  
Spike was impressed, but he supposed he shouldn’t have been. If Xander loved something, he took care of it. That was just his way. And Spike should know. Xander had been taking care of him since that first night together. He hadn’t said the words, yet, but Spike could tell. He’d been a fool for love for far too long to not recognize it when it was poured out over him on a daily basis. And here he was, back to the same point. He was helpless to take care of his boy because this time around, the villain was human, and that stung. How could he take care of Xander when he was helpless before an insignificant, puny little human?  
  
  


XXXXXXXXXX

  
  
Xander takes a big drink of water and plays yet another round of Anywhere But Here.  
  
With Spike, in a chalet in Switzerland, surrounded by snow, sitting on a bearskin rug in front of a roaring fire.  
  
He pulls his blanket tighter around his shoulders. It’s a nice fantasy, but a bit chilly.  
  
How about the Bahamas? A nice private beach, a full moon reflecting off the clear blue water, and a naked Spike. That’s better.  
  
Actually, where he wants to be most of all right now is Giles’ apartment during a Scooby meeting, telling the gang that they’ve got it all wrong. They were right that it isn’t a demon, but it also isn’t a sorcerer trying to beef up a spell, or some witch practicing black magic. There’s nothing supernatural or mystical about this one at all. He’s a plain old, garden variety serial killer who’s decided the Hellmouth makes a great cover for his twisted, cannibalistic ritual eating of the enemy… thing.  
  
He remembers the guy’s last words to Xander: ‘And they call _me_ a monster.’ Well, he _is_ a monster. He may be human, he may have a soul, but no matter what causes him to feel the way he does, _he_ makes the decisions. He’s the one who decides to mutilate and kill his victims, and who gives a fuck whether he had a rough childhood, or if he got seduced by some guy, and couldn’t deal with his homosexuality afterwards, or whatever his problem is. He still doesn’t have the right to kill anyone. He doesn’t have the right.  
  
Actually, Xander thinks he’s more of a monster than anyone _without_ a soul ever could be, because without a soul and a conscience to tell them the difference between good and bad, demons aren’t actually evil. They’re like a lion killing a gazelle. They do what they do because it’s natural for them to do it. It’s only when someone has a soul that good and bad actually mean something, and that’s when evil comes into play. This guy is evil. This guy is a monster – a monster with a capital M.  
  
The problem is that he’s a human Monster, and that’s not what the Scoobies are looking for. And Xander doesn’t have time for them to figure it out. He has two days. Only two.  
  
His eyes sting, and he wipes them on the back of his hand. Show no fear. He’s not going to let this asshole win. They’ll be here. They’ll find him before it’s too late. He knows they will. They have to.

  
  


XXXXXXXXXX

  
  
“Xander’s missing.”  
  
Spike really hadn’t planned on breaking it to them like that. All the rational introductions to the subject that he’d planned on the way over escaped his head the moment he opened the door and saw them all looking at him. It was obvious they were expecting Xander in his place.  
  
“What?” The Slayer’s hands landed in fists on her hips in a pose that meant she was willing to beat the facts out of him if he didn’t offer them fast enough.  
  
“What ever are you talking about, Spike?” The Watcher came out of the kitchen and stood there, arms crossed.  
  
“He left for work this morning, but he never showed up there. And I can’t find him anywhere.” Spike struggled to keep his voice calm, but it was difficult. They needed to be out looking for him right now, not jabbering.  
  
“Oh, goddess!” Red exclaimed, clutching Glinda’s hands.  
  
“How would you know that? Are you staying at his apartment?” The Watcher stared at him accusingly.  
  
Spike cringed inwardly at his slipup. He was frantic over Xander’s disappearance and not paying enough attention. He needed to be much more careful of what he said.  
  
“I’ve had a problem with flooding in my crypt, and Junior has been letting me stay in his spare room.” Spike improvised. While the Watcher seemed to accept his explanation, the Slayer and Red exchanged a look that clearly stated that they had their doubts.  
  
Spike growled low, keeping it under human hearing, but needing to express his frustration somehow. He didn’t need to deal with this right now. He and Xander had always known his friends would twig onto their lies sooner or later, but Xander had insisted that they be kept in the dark.  
  
Xander thought the Slayer would try and dust Spike if she thought he’d taken advantage of one of her Scoobies. She threatened Spike on a regular basis, she didn’t need an excuse to go beyond threats and take action. But they needed to worry about Xander, first. They could fight over Spike’s position in his life some other time.  
  
“He’s been gone all day, and you’re just now telling us about it?” The Watcher had the facts all wrong, of course, but at least he was staying on course.  
  
“His manager called, but I was asleep and didn’t hear the phone ring. I got the message when I woke up right before sundown, about an hour ago. I tried to call, but there was no answer at the site. I checked on his car, but it’s in the lot. He left the apartment around six this morning, but he never even made it to his car.”  
  
“Are you certain he was in the flat when you came in this morning? Did you make sure he made it home safely last night after patrol?”  
  
“I didn’t go out after patrol, Watcher. He was home with me all night, and I spoke to him this morning before he left the flat.”  
  
There was a moment’s pause, and Spike could see the moment it sank in.  
  
“Oh dear, oh dear.” The Watcher slowly sat at a stool at the bar, concern etched on his face.  
  
“Yes, exactly, Rupert. This is the same way all the other men disappeared. That monster has Xander.”  
  
“No. No, this can’t be right.” Glinda pulled Red into her arms, trying to contain her panic, but she wouldn’t be comforted. She pulled away from Tara, wringing her hands, and pacing in front of the fireplace.  
  
“There has to be something you’re missing, Spike. Maybe he had a doctor’s appointment, and forgot to tell you about it. Maybe he’s gone to visit his parents, or – or he’s buying a new car. His old one’s a clunker, he said so himself. That’s it. He’s out test driving a new car right now. He’s not missing. He’s not!”  
  
“I wish that were true, Red, but he’d never just not show up for work. He’s so proud of that job. He’d never jeopardize it like that.”  
  
“You don’t know that!” Red shouted, obviously overcome with fear. “You don’t know everything. I don’t care if you _are_ sleeping with him, you don’t know him that well!”  
  
Spike heard a gasp from the Watcher. Spike was surprised as well. He hadn’t realized that Red knew. And it looked like the Slayer knew as well, since she hadn’t reacted to Red’s words at all, just tried to help Glinda calm her. She wouldn’t be stopped.  
  
“You can’t know him, not really! It’s only been two months since he told me he was bisexual. You haven’t really known him for long. He might not tell you if he was going to the dentist. He broke his tooth on a tombstone and he said he made an appointment to fix it. Maybe he’s at the dentists. It’s only been a couple of months…”  
  
“Six months, Red,” Spike had to raise his voice to be heard over her. “We’ve been together six months. Since the very first night Giles sent me home with Xander. The night before the Gentlemen stole all our voices.”  
  
“That can’t be right.” Red looked at Glinda and back at Spike, puzzled. “That’s before Tara and I…”  
  
“That’s the night, Red. I’m not likely to forget it.” He smiled, remembering Xander’s nervous kisses. “He was quite insistent; pushed me up against the wall and kissed me breathless, he did.”  
  
“You don’t have to breathe, Fangless.” The Slayer’s comment was more annoyed than hateful. Spike wasn’t sure how to deal with that. Her reaction wasn’t at all what he and Xander had expected.  
  
“Do if I want to speak, now don’t I? I will admit, not having to breathe did come in handy later in the evening, after the clothes came off…”  
  
“I think that’s quite enough of that,” the Watcher cut Spike short. “First things first. We need a tracking spell performed as soon as possible. Ladies? If you would assist me?”  
  
Once he had everyone’s attention he stopped and addressed them, looking down his nose at them all, like the librarian he once was.  
  
“And then we shall discuss the fact that you’ve obviously returned to your habit of keeping me in the dark concerning your lives. I had thought that after Riley and the Initiative, you’d realized the error of hiding information that might impact our working relationship. I’m very sorry to see I was mistaken.”  
  
The look of disdain on the Watcher’s face annoyed Spike. “Oi. Don’t look at me. It was Junior’s idea to keep all of you in the dark. I had no idea any of you had sussed us out.”  
  
“I saw you with Xander a couple of nights ago, in Restfield.” The Slayer blushed. “When you were wrestling on the ground.”  
  
“Wrestling?” The Watcher’s eyebrow arched in question.  
  
“Don’t get your kickers in a twist Rupert; it was just a bit of the rough and tumble.” Spike wiggled his eyebrows at the Ripper, who rolled his eyes.  
  
“They were just playing around, Giles.” Surprisingly, the Slayer backed Spike up. “But Xander looked so happy. They were holding hands!”  
  
“Were not!” Spike defended his honor. “I can’t help it if Xander keeps grabbing at me.”  
  
Glinda smiled sweetly at Spike, and he growled. His reputation was going downhill fast. He was going to have to do something really evil just as soon as they got Xander back.  
  
  


XXXXXXXXXX

  
  
Xander holds his breath as he pisses into the dented bucket. He’s been skipping this corner on his walks around the room, but there’s no avoiding it now. He’s just finished his third liter-sized bottle of water and his bladder is about ready to float away. It’s weird that the bucket stank when he first found it, but the room itself just smells of dust and damp concrete. If the Monster has been keeping all those men in this room, then Xander would expect it to bear some marks of their time here, but there’s nothing to indicate anyone else was ever held hostage here.  
  
When it finally hits him, Xander shudders and crawls back into his blanket, clenching his hands into the fabric. Why would the Monster risk moving the man he’s planning to kill to a new location? He’s going to kill Xander right here in his prison. If they don’t find him soon, he’s going to die without ever seeing the sun again. Without seeing anyone he loves – Spike or Willow or Buffy or Giles or even Tara. Dear God. He’s going to die here.  
  
He pulls his knees up and wraps his arms around them, his face buried in his blanket. He tries to keep his sobs quiet, but the monster is watching him, he’s sure of that, and Xander hates him even more for having seen Xander fall apart. It’s not fair. It’s just not fucking fair. His chest hurts like his heart is being crushed; his jaws ache with the effort of keeping them tightly clenched. He’s tired and dirty and he hurts all over, his grief is caught up in his throat making it hard to take a breath. Finally, he lets it go, sobbing brokenly against his knees.  
  
He wears himself out eventually, and the tears taper off as his breathing calms. He could use some comfort right now. If Spike were here, he’d wrap his strong arms around Xander and hold him tight. Then the next time that fucking asshole came into the room, he’d punch his fucking lights out. Okay, maybe that part’s only in his dreams. Fucking chip. Spike spent so much time teaching Xander how to fight back when a demon attacked him, and now he was going to die by the hand of a human. Is that irony? He can never keep them straight. He wipes his eyes on the edge of his t-shirt.  
  
He doesn’t have the energy to stand up when the Monster unlocks the door and lets himself in. Xander stares at the bastard sullenly. He sets the bag down by the door, his face all pinched up, like he’s sucking on a lemon or something bitter. That’s more facial expression than he usually shows. It’s annoying as hell though, ‘cause he stands there and stares at Xander, until he can’t take the aggravation any longer.  
  
“If you have anything to say to me, get it over with. And if you don’t, get the hell out of here, because I have no interest in staring at your ugly face any longer than I absolutely have to.”  
  
There’s a little creature inside Xander’s head that’s running around in circles shouting, “Don’t provoke the mad man!” But Xander doesn’t let that show on his face. He shows no fear. Instead, he channels Spike and sneers at the bastard, then he turns away and stares at the wall.  
  
The Monster chuckles, and Xander looks over in surprise. He doesn’t understand the look on the Monster’s face, but at least the disgust he saw earlier is gone.  
  
“You’re a strange one.”  
  
“I am?” Xander bites his lip to avoid saying anything else. He has no idea where this is going.  
  
“I was beginning to worry that I’d been wrong about you, that I’d picked the wrong man. But even if you don’t posture and yell or try and kick the door down, you’ve got plenty of balls. You’re worthy of the sacrifice.”  
  
The door slams and the Monster is gone.  
  
“Damn.”  
  
Maybe if he’d avoided that last bit of bravado, the Monster would have let him go. He laughs as he gets up to grab his bag of goodies. He knows that wouldn’t happen. If he’d disappointed the Monster, he’d be dead already. And he needs every second he has left, if Spike and the gang are going to free him. He’ll take every second he can get.  
  
He opens the bag, and upends it onto the blanket, then he starts to laugh. Mixed in with his water, sandwich, and a bag of chips are two packages of Twinkies. Excellent. See? Even a serial killer can be trained with time and patience. If it weren’t for his short life expectancy, he’d say he has a shining career ahead of him as a monster trainer. And they thought he’d never go far.  
  
  


XXXXXXXXXX

  
  
“What do you mean, it didn’t work?” Spike towered over Willow and Tara, who sat at Giles’ table, clutching each other’s hands. He may be chipped, but facing Spike in full game face should still be frightening.  
  
“Calm down, Spike.”  
  
Spike turned on the Watcher, who looked as if he regretted sending Buffy out to check on a potential lead while Spike stayed at the Watcher’s flat. “There’s no time to calm down, Watcher! Xander could be dying, right now.”  
  
Spike turned back to the witches. “Try the spell again.”  
  
“That won’t help, Spike. We’ve done it twice, already.” Glinda stood and put a hand on Spike’s shoulder, despite the fright he could practically taste on her. She was a lot braver than people thought, and he respected that. He shook his head, pushing his human face to the fore.  
  
“We have to do _something_.”  
  
“And we will.” Giles spoke determinedly. “Remember that this creature invariably uses the same pattern in all his killings. He’s had Xander for barely thirty hours, now. He won’t be hurt for several days yet.”  
  
Spike felt his game face slip back into place with that calm assessment of Xander’s fate.  
  
Giles stumbled over himself to cover his slipup. “By which time we will have rescued him, so there is no need to panic!  
  
“There are many different reasons why these particular tracking spells might not work.” Stepping into Watcher mode, he lectured them all, despite the fact that no one really cared to hear his thoughts on any subject – or perhaps that was just Spike.  
  
“There might be a cloaking spell in place. The proximity of a similar spell to the one we were attempting could have an effect as well. Or perhaps the ingredients for the spell weren’t fresh enough. It’s too late to pick up more tonight, the store will be closed.”  
  
“So what you’re saying is that we’ll have to wait until tomorrow morning to try again?”  
  
Spike’s words were spoken low, but it was obvious that the Watcher saw the threat implicit in the words, as he drew his shoulders up straight and moved over to stand next to the weapons chest. Not that it would do him any good if Spike decided to pounce. Giles would be dead before he could open the lid. If it weren’t for the damned chip.  
  
“You give me a list of what you need, and I can have it for you in an hour.”  
  
“You aren’t going to break into the Magic Box are you?” Glinda looked awfully upset over something as minor as a little petty larceny.  
  
Spike sighed dramatically. “We need those ingredients _now_ , Glinda. If it bothers you that much, then you can go back and pay for them tomorrow, when the shop is open.”  
  
“You will not break into the Magic Box, or any other establishment.” Giles said.  
  
“Spike! That would be wrong,”  
  
Spike didn’t even bother to acknowledge Red’s idiotic statement.  
  
“Bloody fucking hell, people. It’s a magic shop on the Hellmouth. Do you have any idea how many times it’s already been broken into? They’re used to it. They expect it!” He looked from one frowning face to another. “For Christ’s sake, this is Xander’s life we’re talking about!”  
  
Spike couldn’t believe how stubborn they were being about this. It wasn’t like he was stealing the Crown Jewels or something.  
  
“We’ve already had a long day, and Willow and Tara can’t be expected to do their best when they’re already exhausted. They’ll go back to their dorm and rest up for tomorrow. I’ll go to the Magic Box tomorrow morning and pick up the ingredients for several other spells that may be of use to us at the same time. Between them all, we should be able to get a good fix on his location.”  
  
Spike certainly hoped so, because otherwise he was going to go berserk, and he’d probably take the whole bunch of them with him when he blew.  
  
  


XXXXXXXXXX

  
  
When he hears the door open, Xander cracks one bleary eye before he remembers where he is, and sits up quickly, blinking to clear away the fog of sleep he’s been wrapped up in.  
  
The Monster is wearing an expensive suit and tie, every hair in place. The tie tack and cuff links are probably a matching set. Xander bets there’s a briefcase waiting outside the door. The large McDonalds bag in one hand looks out of place, but for that matter so does the Tazer.  
  
He probably gets his coffee and breakfast pastries at some exclusive specialty shop downtown. Good thing Xander’s not proud. His stomach’s loud growl proclaims that McDonalds is good enough for him. The Monster sets the bag down.  
  
“This will have to do you until I get back this evening. I recommend you eat it all now,” he says with distaste. “I’m sure it won’t taste as good once it cools and the grease congeals.”  
  
“What? You’re not going to drop by over your lunch break with a vegetarian wrap and a nice, healthy salad?”  
  
The Monster smirks at him. “Remember, I’ve been watching you. Your eating habits are atrocious. If I hadn’t chosen you, you’d have died of a heart attack by the time you were fifty.”  
  
“Yeah, maybe so. But at least that would have been _my_ choice. You’re not giving me much choice, now are you?”  
  
“You’ve been called to serve a higher purpose. Your pitiful excuse of a life is nothing compared to the privilege of serving as my sacrifice.”  
  
He starts to leave and Xander shouts to get his attention. “Hey, wait! You got any magazines to read? Or maybe a book?”  
  
The Monster laughs. “Sorry, I’m really not into comic books or Hustler.”  
  
“Maybe a pen and paper? I could write my memoirs!”  
  
“That wouldn’t keep you busy for more than an hour.”  
  
Xander shrugs, not wanting to start an argument, and not sure he really has one. He hasn’t really been around long enough to have anything important to say. “I’ll write very slowly.”  
  
The Monster shuts the door and Xander sighs. “Damn. It’s going to be a long day.”  
  
He gets up, scratching his two day beard, and heads over to the bucket. Once he’s sure the Monster is gone for the day, he’s going to have to do something he’s been avoiding. He’ll end up with the imprint of the piss bucket on his ass, but bodily functions wait for no man. Good thing he’s saved some napkins for toilet paper, and wet naps for cleaning up after.  
  
He’s just finishing up at the piss bucket when the door opens briefly and something is thrown onto the floor next to his breakfast. The door closes with a bang and the snap of the lock, and Xander crosses over to see what’s there. He smiles and picks it up, tossing it into the air, and catching it as he walks back to his corner. He sets his bag of food down and tosses the cards down next to it. Not as good as a Playstation, but better than a pencil and paper – a deck of cards will keep him busy for a while.  
  
His stomach growls. He’ll save the cards until after breakfast. First, he has a date with Ronald McDonald.  
  
  


XXXXXXXXXX

  
  
Spike’s dead heart practically leapt in his chest when he saw the light in the kitchen window, but then he remembered that he’d left the light on in case Xander came back before Spike got home. He still held a thread of hope as he climbed the stairs, but there was no Xander in the flat. Spike sighed heavily and went into the kitchen for some blood. He wasn’t really hungry, but he needed to keep up his strength if he was going to be of any good when they found the bastard that had his Xander.  
  
And he _was_ Spike’s. It didn’t matter how loud those little chippies clamored and squawked about how long they’d known him and how important they thought they were to his life. None of that mattered, because Xander had given himself to Spike, and Spike had accepted. Xander was his, and he was going to stay Spike’s, no matter what they said.  
  
The main culprit was Red. She was having trouble understanding that while she’d been off at college having her own life and finding her own new love, that her old friend Xander was doing the same. He’d found a job he loved, and was working his way up to foreman. And just like Red, he’d found his love.  
  
Xander wasn’t what Spike had expected. He’d liked the boy’s caustic humor, but until he’d stopped aiming it at Spike, he’d felt prickly and uncomfortable around Xander, and had pushed back just as hard as Xander had pushed him. It was only when Giles had forced the two to room together that Xander had lost his tight control, and showed Spike what lay behind all the bitterness and edgy anger – fright and hunger and a need that went so deep that Spike still hadn’t found the end of it. He wasn’t sure he ever would.  
  
He liked the idea that Xander’s need for Spike was never ending. It appealed to the poet in him, as much as he tried to hide it. But that was part of what Spike loved about Xander; he didn’t have to hide the parts that no one except Dru had ever seen before. The world outside was no place for a demon to show a soft side, but at home with Xander, there was no need to hide.  
  
He wasn’t about to lose that to some power hungry magic user. He’d fight for his Xander, and the fool that stood between Spike and what he loved was bound for a good arse kicking. Nobody took what was Spike’s and got away with it. Xander would do the same for him, because just as sure as Xander belonged to Spike, the reverse was also true. Xander took care of what he loved, and Spike had no doubt that he was loved.  
  
Spike finished off his meal and put his cup in the sink. He’d made it to the door before he came back, and rinsed out his mug. Xander was a bad influence on him. Here he was rinsing blood out of his mug. Junior could never get him to remember to do it, but Spike didn’t want him to come home to a sink full of bloody mugs. He shook his head, murmuring to himself – no, murmuring to Xander.  
  
“See what you’ve done to me, love? You’d better come home soon, before I end up trying to use that vacuum, and end up turning this place into a dust storm.”  
  
It was too early for him to go to bed, but he was too unsettled to do anything else. Not that he’d get much sleep. Whether he wanted to or not, he’d be listening for Xander’s key in the lock, or his work boots hitting the floor by the door in the living room. He hesitated over taking a shower, for fear he might miss Xander’s voice on the answering machine, or his knock announcing that he’d lost his keys. In the end he compromised, and left the bathroom door open so he could hear the phone ring or a knock on the door. Just in case.  
  
The water felt wonderful on his knotted shoulders. He stood under the pounding spray and let the hot water work on his tight muscles. If Xander were there, he’d pull Spike into the bedroom and give him a massage, working warm oil into his tense shoulders. They’d have slippery fun once his shoulders were unknotted, and when they were through, they’d need another shower.  
  
Spike liked to touch Xander. He’d get on his knees and slide his hands up and down Xander’s thighs, sucking and teasing Xander’s cock. He loved to open Xander’s ass with his tongue, his hands kneading those taut butt cheeks. When he was draped over Xander’s back his hands couldn’t help but roam across his broad chest, teasing and tweaking his nipples, making Xander buck and cry out his name. Xander was so responsive. He was just as eager for Spike’s touch as Spike was eager to touch him.  
  
He could have Xander mewling like a kitten merely by sucking on the soft skin on the inside of Xander’s thighs. He could make Xander beg for more simply by playing with his nipples. He could bring Xander to the brink of an orgasm with his tongue between the cheeks of Xander’s ass. Spike could play Xander like a violin, and Xander would shout and sing hallelujahs to the heavens if Spike wanted him to. And Spike loved him for it.  
  
His water-warmed hand sped up on his cock, and Spike could almost feel Xander’s lips on his favorite spot, sucking on Spike’s neck. He’d suck harder the closer Spike got, and when Spike was riding on that razor’s edge of pleasure, he’d bite Spike, right over the jugular, and send him spinning off into his orgasm with a pleasure so intense it was almost pain.  
  
Spike let the water wash away his come, eyes closed, his face upturned into the spray. And if the water washed away a few tears, no one was the wiser.  
  
  


XXXXXXXXXX

  
  
It amazes Xander how much Spike loves him. Who the hell is he? Xander Harris, the dweeb who loves his comic books more than he does his family. Well, his _real_ family, anyway. His friends are a different matter. And Spike, well, he’d choose Spike over his entire comic book collection any day.  
  
The amazing thing is, he knows Spike would do the same for him. Spike has lived one hundred and twenty-five years; he’s seen incredible things, and has had a love that lasted over a century. Yet Xander is convinced that Spike loves him. They’ve only been together for six months. That’s an incredibly short time compared to a century, but he has no doubts about Spike’s devotion.  
  
He tells Xander all the time. Not so much in words, but in his actions, and the way he looks at Xander, and smiles at him like he smiles at no one else. It makes Xander all warm and fuzzy inside. Spike loves Xander.  
  
They’ve talked about what will happen when the chip stops working, or Spike finds a way to turn it off. He knows that Xander doesn’t want to be turned. That’s why he’s teaching Xander self-defense, and training him to not only _fight_ the bad guys, but to identify them and know what it takes to kill them with the least amount of harm to Xander.  
  
Spike still holds out hope that someday Xander might change his mind about being turned. Spike doesn’t want to have to live without him. He says he can find someone to fix Xander’s soul, without that nasty happiness clause. Xander has finally agreed to consider it, but he wants to talk to Giles about it before it goes any farther, and that will entail letting them all know that he and Spike are together.  
  
The problem is, Buffy has a nasty temper when she’s facing a vamp that isn’t Angel, and that makes Xander nervous. Spike has come close to dying by Buffy’s stake many, many times, because Spike has no control when it comes to Buffy, either. They’re mortal enemies after all; they’re never going to be best friends. The problem is that he isn’t sure he could stand it if one of them ever managed to kill the other.  
  
But if there is one thing the time locked in this stupid little room has taught him, it’s that time is too short to hide. When he gets out of here; when they finally figure out where he is and come up with a way to save him, he isn’t going to let Buffy treat Spike like he’s disposable anymore. She’s going to learn to deal with Xander’s love for Spike, and stop treating Spike like crap.  
  
It will be a relief to not have to lie anymore.  
  
He will definitely miss the spy stuff; innuendo and codes, lies that don’t hurt anyone. He even bought himself a great trench coat with lots of hidden pockets and room for his stakes and other weapons. What he needs is a spy gadget guy, like James Bond’s Q. If he had one or two of Q’s gadgets, he could get the hell out of this place. He’d pull out a set of lock picks, then he’d call Spike and Buffy on the phone in his shoe, and when the Monster came back, they’d ambush him. That would be the end of that Monster.  
  
If Spike was here, he’d have already gotten out anyway. Even if he didn’t have lock picks on him. He’d have used that attitude of his to piss the Monster off, and give Spike the perfect opportunity to trip him up and escape. He would never sit here and let the Monster make all the rules. Spike would…  
  
Xander’s eyes roam the room, looking for something, anything, that might give him an edge. His eyes land on the camera, and the bare outline of an idea begins to form. It might not work, but it’s worth a shot at least. Tomorrow will be the third day – the last day. This might be his only chance to get away.  
  
More than likely, someone’s already tried his idea. The Monster’s probably already dealt with what he’s thinking of, and is prepared for it. But if Xander’s going to die, he’s going out in a way that will make Spike proud: Xander’s going to go out fighting.  
  
  


XXXXXXXXXX

  
  
Spike lined up his shot, and sent the cue speeding down to the other end of the table, tipping the five ball into the corner pocket. The cue kept moving, kicking the rail and tapping the seven on its way past, lining it up for Spike’s next shot. He played automatically, only a small portion of his mind on the game. Eventually he missed, but he left his opponent without much of a shot.  
  
He returned to his chair and had another shot of Jack while his opponent conferred with his drinking buddy about what to do with the mess Spike had left him. Spike stretched his legs out in front of him, hands laced behind his head. This was a much better idea than yet another round of patrol.  
  
They were back to doing research again at the Watcher’s, having exhausted all their tracking spells. Spike had been about ready to strangle Red if she’d uttered one word more about how important it was to keep a positive outlook in times of trial.  
  
If Xander were with him, they’d be playing doubles, and Junior would be buzzing on just a couple of beers and the occasional shot of Jack Spike talked him into. He loved it when Spike took him out playing pool, and Spike was glad to do it. When they had no opponents, Spike would work with Xander on his game, and the shine in Junior’s eyes when he got something right was worth the time and effort.  
  
The idiot he was playing against had finally made his move, but he didn’t pot anything, so Spike got up, and took a long look at the table. He cleared three balls, then missed the fourth, leaving his opponent with a nice set up. Not that it would do the guy much good. Spike would finish this game next turn, and then he’d head back to the Watcher’s flat.  
  
There’d been something percolating in his head all day, and he kept poking at it, but it wouldn’t come to him. It had something to do with a little book of spells Glinda had brought with her today. Hopefully, she’d left it with the Watcher, because he’d like the chance to rummage through it and see what it was stirring up in his brain.  
  
It had to do with Drusilla, he was sure, almost all his experience with spells came from her. He kept getting flashes of Egypt, and Dru climbing a pyramid in the dark, her white skirts held up and out of the way while she scrabbled over the huge stones. They’d gone to Egypt because the discovery of Tutankhamun’s tomb had sparked an idea in her mind. She wanted to find an undiscovered tomb, and she said all she needed was a piece of dead skin. She’d wanted to break into King Tut’s tomb and steal some of his mummified skin, so she could use it to trace his ancestors.  
  
They’d never done it, although they’d had a great time in Egypt. Dru had got distracted by an amazing boy who had taken them on a late night ride on his camel. They’d spent weeks with him lying between them; midnight eyes, black hair, warm, dusky skin, and strong muscled thighs. He’d been absolutely delicious. Then Dru had become fascinated with Winnie the Pooh, so they’d traveled back to London to meet A. A. Milne instead.  
  
The guy was still taking his turn, but Spike had lost interest in the game. He had to get back to the Watcher’s before it got too late. He tossed back the last of the Jack, and headed out into the night, leaving the game behind without a second thought.  
  
The tracking spells the witches used had relied on Xander’s living body. Not to say Xander was dead, they still had a day and a half to find him before it was too late. But if Dru could trace a mummy through his dead skin cells, couldn’t they do the same to find Xander? Spike could easily find as much dead skin as they’d need, they had a full hamper of clothes waiting for the laundry.  
  
Spike took a deep breath of night air, tasting the flavors that drifted past him, enthused for the first time since he’d realized that Xander was missing. He started to run. Not that he thought the few minutes of saved time could make a difference. The witches had surely gone home by now, and nothing could be done until the morning. But he needed to work off some of this sudden energy, or the Watcher wouldn’t be able to understand a word he said.  
  
He laughed as he ran, talking to Xander again. “We’re coming for you, love. Hang on. We’ll be there soon.”

 

XXXXXXXXXX

  
Xander swallows, shifting nervously from foot to foot, trying to remain as quiet as possible. He’s cold, but his shirt is currently covering the camera, and he needs to keep the blanket folded to provide the most protection from the electrodes on the Taser. At least draping the blanket over his arms and chest provides a little warmth. It feels like Xander’s been behind this door for hours now. The Monster is probably out doing… Monstery kinds of things, like stalk his next victim, or going to the gym to work on his muscles; totally unaware of the trap Xander has laid for him.  
  
Finally, the door rattles, as if someone is unlocking it. Xander sends up a quick prayer that the Monster will fall for his trick, and drapes the blanket over his shoulder, freeing his hands. When the door swings open, and the Monster takes a step inside the room, Xander puts his weight behind the door, shoving it at the Monster, trying to knock him off balance. He’s careful to hold on to the knob, making sure it doesn’t slam shut and leave him in there alone.  
  
When he pulls the door open again, the Monster is right there with the Taser, but Xander’s way ahead of him. He throws the blanket at the Monster and the electrodes hit it instead of Xander. He dives for the Monster's legs, trying to knock him off his feet, but the Monster is fast, and Xander shouts as the Taser shocks him solidly on the back of his left shoulder. His momentum keeps Xander moving forward, and the Monster stumbles backwards out of the doorway, throwing his arms wide to try and catch his balance. The Taser hits the doorframe with a loud crack, falls to the ground, and skitters across the floor to land near a tall filing cabinet.  
  
Xander’s shoulder hurts like hell, but fortunately the shocks from the Taser itself only last as long as they are in contact with his body. He shakes his head to clear it as he struggles to his feet, trying to get to the Taser before the Monster does. His left arm isn’t working very well, so when he tries to use the cabinet for support as he bends over to get the weapon, his arm collapses under him. There's an unexpected pain in his other shoulder, but it disappears when he falls, and he rolls away, trying to put some distance between himself and the Monster.  
  
When he stops moving, he looks up to see that the Monster has a syringe in his hand. A chill runs through Xander when he realizes that the pain in his shoulder was from the needle. The Monster lunges at him, the syringe at the ready, and Xander kicks up with both feet, hitting the monster in the stomach as hard as he can. The Monster falls back, going down hard. The syringe rolls across the floor, and Xander picks it up as he struggles to his feet, glad to see that it’s mostly full. Hopefully that means he didn’t get a full dose of whatever is in it.  
  
He looks around, trying to get his bearings, and hopefully find something that might be useful as a weapon. He seems to be in some kind of large office. The Monster is lying on the floor, shaking his head to clear it, but it’s apparent he won’t be down for long, and there is nothing but a few empty desks and file cabinets around him, and nothing to use as a weapon. Now would be the perfect time for Spike to show up, or the gang – hell, at this point, he’s not picky, anybody would do – even the police.  
  
  


XXXXXXXXXX

  
  
“Stop being so grouchy. We want him back, too, you know.”  
  
Spike bit his tongue. Of course he knew that. Didn’t stop him from worrying, now did it? Stupid Slayer and her stupid minions. They were important to Xander, so they were off Spike’s menu, even after the chip came out, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t fantasize.  
  
The Watcher had sent them out on patrol simply to get them out of his hair. After the fifth time either Spike or the Slayer had stopped pacing long enough to ask how much longer the potion had to simmer before they could use it, the Watcher had kicked them out with instructions to go find something to beat up or kill before he pulled his hair out at the roots. Not that he could afford it, Rupert had a high enough forehead already. They were to be back in two hours, at which time they’d proceed with the spell.  
  
The two had swept through Restfield, scaring off any lesser demons with their ferocity and single-minded purpose, and beating the stupid ones who stuck around to a pulp. It had been cathartic, but in the end they’d decided to take a side trip down to Willy’s Place for one more round of beat the snitch, just in case he’d heard anything new, before heading back to Giles’ flat.  
  
Although he had his Don’t Mess With Me mask firmly in place, Spike was nervous. This was the first time he’d been back to Willy’s since they beat the shite out of him for killing his own kind. Showing up with the Slayer in tow was sure to raise their hostility even higher. Fortunately, it was early in the evening. None of _those_ demons would be out and about yet. If he was lucky.  
  
“I meant what I said yesterday, Spike.”  
  
He looked over at the Slayer, puzzled.  
  
“When I said Xander looked happy. Since you and Xander started hanging out, he’s been happier than I’ve seen him in a while. Of course, I thought it was because you two were _friends_ , not because you were _boyfriends_.  
  
Spike lifted one eyebrow. “Do I look like a boy to you?”  
  
“Oh, you know what I mean. I just thought it was the whole macho, sports-watching, girl-ogling thing guys do that was making him happy – but I guess you don’t do the girl-ogling, huh?”  
  
“Nothing wrong with admiring a fine form, no matter what the sex.”  
  
Spike gave her a long, appraising look, and she blushed, smacking his arm. “Xander doesn’t mind you looking at someone else?”  
  
“Why should he mind? He knows I’m not going to do anything about it, no matter how much they beg me.” He smirked at her and she rolled her eyes. “I’m a faithful man; it’s hardwired into me, since even before the demon. I’d never be unfaithful to someone I love.”  
  
“You _do_ love him, don’t you?” she asked, wistfully.  
  
Spike nodded, too caught up in his worry to answer, fighting back the fear that threatened to break free. His fear was private, and no one deserved to see it but Xander.  
  
“We’ll get him back, Spike.”  
  
“Yes. We will.” He left no room for doubt. Xander belonged at his side, and nothing would stop Spike from getting Xander back.  
  
He swept into the bar, making as dramatic an entrance as possible. He knew the Slayer would be annoyed at him for stealing her thunder, but Spike couldn’t afford to lose any more face in front of these demons. If he walked in behind her, they’d see him as her minion, and he wouldn’t have that. He may work for her, but he was his own demon, and nobody else had a claim on him. So he chanced her anger in order to protect what was left of his reputation.  
  
He took up a spot at the end of the bar closest to the door in case of trouble, and looked around. The bar was half-full, but with a few noticeable exceptions, it was a fairly innocuous crowd; he’d been right, it was too early for the toughs. The Slayer chose to follow his lead, but she sat down beside him, indicating they were equals. Willy cringed as he saw them. He poured a shot of something green that smoked slightly for a customer at the other end of the bar before hesitantly making his way over.  
  
As usual, Willy’s smarmy little grin made Spike want to smack him, but he refrained. It would be difficult to get any information out of him if his jaws were wired shut. Besides, the chip would make it hurt enough to take all the pleasure out of the act. Willy was a lucky little bastard.  
  
“Hey, look who’s here…” Willy said loudly, but the Slayer reached over the bar and pulled him halfway across it before he could finish announcing her presence.  
  
“Don’t start with me, Willy. I’m not in the mood.” Spike rated her performance a solid 8 out of 10. Not bad.  
  
Willy waved his arms in surrender, his dirty bar rag flapping in the air. “Hey, no need to harm the bartender! Especially when I might have something for you.”  
  
“You do?” she asked happily. “That was quick.” She frowned at him. “Are you sure? Because I’ve barely started my routine.”  
  
“And it’s amazing,” he rushed to assured her. “But totally unnecessary, ‘cause I might have overheard a couple of customers talking about a human that’s using borrowed magic in the warehouses down by the docks.”  
  
The Slayer dropped Willy, and he straightened his shirt, looking at her resentfully.  
  
“Borrowed magic?”  
  
“You know, Slayer.” Spike explained. “Charms, crystals, rods and whatnot – some witch or sorcerer plants a particular spell in them and then they’re sold to whoever needs them.”  
  
“But what good would it do for a sorcerer to use someone else’s spells?”  
  
Willy shrugged. “Don’t look at me, I’m only the eavesdropper – I mean bartender.” He pointed in the direction of the far wall. “You want to talk to the Nophenquadures that are sitting in that corner over there. The one with the striped shirt. He’s the one who said it.”  
  
“A no pen quarter?” the Slayer asked. “Will it work in the jukebox? By the way, your music selection really sucks. Don’t you have anything from _this_ decade?”  
  
Willy stared at her for a moment, then shook his head.  
  
“Are you for real, lady? Cause if not, you should take that show on the road.”  
  
Spike ignored the shite and kept to the subject. “What does the Nophen in the striped shirt have to do with our missing friend?”  
  
Willy leaned across the bar to speak quietly, and Spike found himself doing the same out of habit more than the need to hear his words. “He said he saw this guy carrying in a man with dark hair into a warehouse the day before yesterday. Then the whole building went wavy on him.”  
  
“The building went wavy?” the Slayer asked.  
  
Willy shrugged. “Nophens, they’re kind of immune to human magic. The stuff doesn’t work so well on them. So I figure there was some sort of cloaking spell involved.”  
  
“Good work, Willy,” Spike said. He’d done well for once.  
  
When he just stood there, a hopeful smile on his face, Spike looked at the Slayer. “Got any dosh on you?”  
  
“Dosh? Is that another of your weird British sex words?”  
  
Spike saw the moment the light came on.  
  
“Oh, wait, I remember this one. Why would I want to give Willy my hard earned cash when I can always beat what I want out of him?”  
  
“Because he’s a lot less likely to lie to you in the future if you give him cash now,” Spike explained  
  
Willy nodded and smiled widely, baring all his teeth in the process. It was not a very encouraging sight, and the Slayer stood there scowling at him, hands on her hips.  
  
Finally, Spike sighed and pulled a couple of twenties out of his duster. He stuck them into Willy’s shirt pocket.  
  
“Thanks, Spike.” Willy grinned at him and leaned in close again. “Sorry about that thing a couple of months back. I couldn’t step in without getting stomped on myself, and well, my bones don’t heal the way you vamps do. Right?”  
  
Spike scowled at him. The damned loud-mouth had no right to go telling his private business in front of the Slayer, of all people.  
  
“What happened a couple of months ago?” she asked.  
  
Willy’s eyes got big as he realized what he’d done, right before Spike pulled his money back out of the snitch’s pocket.  
  
“Hey!”  
  
Willy grabbed for the bills, but Spike held them just out of his reach. Willy changed his tune immediately. “Oh, nothing, Slayer, nothing at all. It’s just a little joke between me and my good pal, Spike.”  
  
Spike moved the bills closer, and Willy snatched them out of the air, then turned tail and ran to the other end of the bar.  
  
The slayer didn’t look convinced, but Spike ignored her for now and turned around on his stool, searching out the Nophenquadures in the corner. There were only four or five of them, talking quietly amongst themselves. It made sense for them to be here this time of the evening, they weren’t fighters, and would likely stay away from the more violent species of demons that kept Willy busy later in the night.  
  
The Slayer followed his gaze to the Nophens. “They don’t seem too tough. We shouldn’t have any trouble getting what we need out of them.”  
  
“You always look for trouble, don’t you? We’ll get a lot more out of these demons if we try and talk their language instead of threatening them.”  
  
“I don’t speak No-pen-whatevers, do you?”  
  
“No, but I don’t need to. They’re usually rather fluent in English. What I meant was that you can get a lot more with honey than vinegar.”  
  
She was obviously ignoring everything he said as she stared at the demons. “What’s wrong with their hands?”  
  
“They have opposable thumbs.”  
  
“So do we.” She held up one hand and wiggled the appendage in question.  
  
“No, I mean they have two thumbs on each hand. They’re extremely dexterous. You often find them around boats; they’re well known for having a talent for mending nets.”  
  
Dru had befriended a Nophenquadures clan some years ago; she’d been captivated by their ability to weave the most amazing cloth from incredibly fine silken threads. They’d visited the clan for months, so he was aware that they had a very fascinating and complex culture.  
  
They were also a very insular species, so he’d have to move carefully to get the information he needed. They didn’t respond well to violence, they tended to panic, and it was hard to get a straight answer out of a demon that squealed and curled up in a ball whenever you came near.  
  
“They look human. Except for the extra thumb, I mean. They should be able to fit right in to _human_ society, and not have to live on the Hellmouth.”  
  
Spike rolled his eyes at the arrogance of these humans, to assume their culture and society were the goal of all intelligent beings. He couldn’t blame it directly on the Slayer, she was just parroting the Watcher’s Council party line, but after a while it got old. He had too many far more important things to worry about, and it made him ill tempered.  
  
“Maybe they don’t _want_ to fit into human society. It amazes me how many humans assume that humanity is a goal that all creatures should strive for.”  
  
The Slayer snorted. “Jeez, what crawled up your butt and died? C’mon, let’s go talk to the No Pens, and see what _they_ have to say.”  
  
  


XXXXXXXXXX

  
  
The Monster leaps to his feet, his boy-next door face transformed by the outrage that shows there. Apparently his victims aren’t supposed to misbehave.  
  
Xander grips the syringe like a knife fighter would. He’s never actually fought with a syringe before, but it can’t be too much different than a knife, right? Once again, Spike’s training comes in handy. He’d be so proud.  
  
The Monster takes a step in Xander’s direction, his hand outstretched.  
  
“Give me that.”  
  
Xander laughs. “You can’t be serious.”  
  
Xander’s backed into a corner. He can feel the small amount of whatever he got shot with taking effect already. It’s not easy keeping the syringe in a good position to strike, in case the bastard comes close enough for Xander to use it. If he could hit the Monster with this, he should only have to play keep away for a few minutes before the Monster crashes  
  
The Monster takes another step, and Xander raises the syringe, alarmed that he’d dropped his arm but hadn’t realized it until the Monster moved. At this rate, the Monster just has to out-wait him, and he’ll drop his guard far enough for the Monster to grab him again. Xander’s going to have to go on the offensive if he wants to get out of here with certain important parts of his anatomy still attached.  
  
He sizes the guy up; he’s slightly shorter, but with far more muscle than Xander. That doesn't mean anything, necessarily. Being bulked up doesn't mean he knows how to fight. When the Monster smiles, Xander realizes that while he's been sizing the Monster up, the Monster has been sizing up Xander -- and he thinks he's won the fight already  
  
“If you hand me the syringe now, it will go much easier for you in the end, I promise.”  
  
“Much easier?” Now _that_ wakes Xander up. “What’s much easier than my blood spattered all over the walls and the floor? Maybe you’ll let me bleed out onto the floor instead? You, mister, are certifiably insane!”  
  
The Monster’s eyes get darker, and his brow creases in his anger. “I am not insane!”  
  
Oh, looks like he hit a sore spot. Maybe he could use this to his advantage.  
  
The Monster takes a deep breath, and speaks in the flat, calm voice that he’d used earlier, the voice that sends chills down Xander’s spine with its matter of fact cruelty. “You will play your part, just as all the others have. Just as you’re meant to do. The question is, will I beat the shit out of you before you sacrifice yourself for me, or will you go to your rest bearing only the marks I bestow upon you during the ritual?”  
  
“You’re asking me if I want to sacrifice myself to you? Yeah, you’re insane alright, bub. I wouldn’t even sacrifice myself to the gods of all things chocolate, so you’re not getting a sacrifice out of me. No freakin’ way.”  
  
The Monster draws himself up to his full height, and says in a voice that drips arrogance: “When the time comes, you will understand the honor I am bestowing on you. You will _beg_ me to end your life.”  
  
Xander whistles long and low. “Oh, man. You are nuttier than a fruitcake.”  
  
The Monster clenches his hands into fists. His face gets red – really red. Spike always tells Xander to use his strengths and watch for his opponent’s weaknesses. He’s hit upon a definite weakness, and although Xander’s fighting skills have gotten better, his real strength lies in his ability to use the tongue the Monster wants to take from him.  
  
“You are a deranged maniac; a couple of beers short of a six pack. You’re mad as a hatter, you wacko nutjob!” Xander is getting into the swing of things. He feels like he belongs in that Monty Python sketch about the dead parrot. He can see from the Monster’s reaction that his words are hitting home. “You’re a demented basket case. You’re mad as a monkey on a trike. How many insane asylums have you already escaped from, you unhinged lunatic?”  
  
With a roar, the Monster is on him, hands around his throat, and Xander barely remembers that the whole reason for upsetting the guy was to get him close enough that Xander could jab him with this syringe. The handiest spot is his bulging bicep, and Xander swings his hand up and plants the syringe there, pushing on the plunger as hard as he can.  
  
The Monster screams, shaking Xander as he throttles him. There are spots before Xander’s eyes, and his vision is getting darker around the edges. He’s not sure if it worked, but it looks like at least one of them is about to pass out. Xander’s pretty sure it’s going to be him.  
  
  


XXXXXXXXXX

  
  
Spike studied the map the Nophenquadure had drawn on a water ringed napkin. He knew the area; they could be there in fifteen minutes. Even less if the Slayer got off the damned payphone. Maybe he’d leave the bint here and do some reconnaissance before she showed up so they’d be ready to move in as soon as she got there. He didn’t like the idea of waiting, but if Xander’s kidnapper really was human, there was little he could do unless he was lucky enough that the bastard wasn’t around when he got there.  
  
The warehouse was down at the shipping yards, close to the Fish Tank; a rather disreputable bar that he’d visited a time or two before the chip. The area was mostly human, so he’d have to be careful. Damned chip.  
  
“He can’t be both places, Giles. He’s either at the shipping yards or at Restfield cemetery.”  
  
The Slayer’s voice cut through the thoughts in his head, and he realized something was wrong. Spike focused his attention on the call.  
  
“According to this spell there are two places he could be. We’ll have to search both.” Giles’ tinny voice came through the receiver well enough for Spike to tell he was annoyed. It seemed the witches had done their spell without waiting for Buffy and Spike. “The location on the map looks to be close to Spike’s crypt. Since we’re closer to Restfield, I thought we’d go there first, and then down to the shipping yards after. We’ll need you both to meet us at the entrance to the cemetery.”  
  
Spike shook his head. “You can go on,” he told the Slayer. “I’m going to the shipping yards.”  
  
“What?” The Slayer obviously disagreed. “We may need you, Spike.”  
  
“You’ll know where to find me if it turns out you do. I’m going to the shipping yards.”  
  
He shoved the napkin into her hands while she was still explaining to Giles what was happening, and strode away. He had a gut feeling that Xander was at the shipping yards and not the cemetery. Nothing supernatural or any of that rot, just a feeling that he had to hurry or it would be too late. He started to run.  
  
He was half way to the docks when he realized that the others would come up empty-handed in their search at Restfield. The spell that had needed to simmer for so long had required Xander’s skin cells, which Spike had fetched from a shirt out of their laundry basket. It wasl was supposed to attract like to like, and they simply had to rule out places like Xander’s and the Watcher’s flats and Xander’s work site to discover where he was being held. But just a few days earlier, Spike and Xander had spent a good two hours rolling around in Spike’s bed at the crypt he still kept in Restfield. At least once they knew it was a false lead, they’d head down to the shipping yards and would find him waiting.  
  
Spike slowed down close to the warehouse, ducking into an alley to ready himself. He couldn’t go in all guns a-blazing; for one thing, he had no guns. He checked his pockets for his silver and iron knives, his straight razor, a few stakes and his lucky railroad spike. He flexed his foot, the comforting feel of the knife in his boot pressing against his ankle. He was as ready as he was going to get. He slid out of the alley and through the shadows, making his way around to the back of the warehouse.  
  
  


XXXXXXXXXX

  
  
Below the roar of blood pounding in his head, Xander hears shouting. Suddenly the hand around his throat is gone, and he drags in great whooping breaths. He brings his hand up to his throat, and almost stabs himself with the syringe still held tightly in his hand.  
  
The Monster is gone. His head aches, and his eyes are blurry, but he forces them to stay open as he searches the room. He finds the Monster on the other side, kicking someone on the floor – someone in a long, black coat.  
  
“Spike!”  
  
His legs are like noodles, but he holds onto the wall with one hand, and struggles over to the Monster who’s kicking Spike. Spike is curled up in a ball, hands wrapped around his head to protect himself, and Xander gets pissed off. Nobody touches his Spike.  
  
He raises his hand to grab the Monster’s shoulder and realizes he’s still got the syringe in it. It’s still half full of liquid, so without thinking he shoves it into the Monster’s neck and depresses the plunger. The Monster screams; he turns on Xander, and the syringe pulls out of his grip.  
  
The Monster throws the syringe across the room as Xander backs away from him. There’s blood soaking into the Monster’s clean white shirt, and the hand he’s got pressed over his neck is dripping with it. That doesn’t stop him from reaching out with his other hand and clamping it around Xander’s neck, going for round two of Strangle the Xander.  
  
Xander reaches up and tries to dislodge the hand, but even with two hands, he can’t get away from the Monster, his fingers slippery with the Monster’s blood. It’s not like he’s actually gotten his breath back from the last time. So he scrabbles at the Monster’s hand, and finally it occurs to him that he knows what to do.  
  
Spike has pounded this particular trick into his head for months now. So he reaches for the Monster’s thumb. Even though his sight is blurring, and his blood is rushing loudly in his ears, he thinks he feels the pop as the joint slips out of place. Distantly, he realizes his blood isn’t the only thing that’s roaring, but his eyes slip closed, and everything goes black.  
  
  


XXXXXXXXXX

  
  
Spike watched with some satisfaction as Xander pulled that bastard’s thumb out of joint, but he couldn’t do a thing to protect Xander when he dropped to the floor unconscious, and the arsewipe started kicking Xander’s body. Spike struggled to his feet, looking for a club of some kind. Spike knew that he’d go under with the chip’s blast, but if he could knock the guy out before he went, it would be worth the pain to keep Xander safe until he could wake up.  
  
Suddenly the arsewipe staggered backwards, his hand flying out to try and catch his balance. His eyes rolled up into the back of his head, and he dropped like a sack of potatoes. Spike stumbled across the floor to poke at the guy, in case he was playing possum. Spike poked him pretty hard in the kidneys, and got nothing – no reaction from the man or the chip, so he took advantage of the opportunity to aim four or five vicious kicks into the bastard’s kidneys and ribs before he crossed over to check on Xander.  
  
Leaning against the wall, Spike slid awkwardly to the floor, wanting to be as close as he could to Xander. There were ugly dark red bruises forming around Xander’s throat, and Spike would have gone back over to give the bastard another dose of displeasure for his treatment of Xander if getting down onto the floor hadn’t set the edges of a couple of broken ribs grating against each other. It hurt like hell. He wasn’t sure he could get back up at the moment. He’d have to just sit here for now.  
  
He pulled Xander’s head into his lap and patted his cheek, trying to wake him up. He didn’t like having Xander out of it like this with that bastard’s condition uncertain. If he woke up before Xander did, things could get sticky. He heard Xander’s heart speed up, and Spike positioned himself to be the first thing he saw.  
  
“Xander?”  
  
He gasped and his eyes popped open, “Oh, God!” He clutched Spike’s arms, holding him tightly. Spike smiled.  
  
“No, love. Just Spike.”  
  
Xander twisted onto his side, and wrapped his arms around Spike’s waist. He winced as Xander hugged him close, but he didn’t mention the broken ribs. It was worth it to have Xander’s arms around him. He ran his fingers through Xander’s hair, not caring that his hands were shaking. He hadn’t admitted it, not even to himself, but he wasn’t sure he could have kept going if he hadn’t found Xander alive. He’d had too many losses already. A loss like this might have done him in.  
  
Finally, Xander loosened his grip around Spike’s waist, and looked around. “Where is he?”  
  
Spike nodded to his left, “Over there. I’m watching him. He hasn’t moved since he dropped. I was even able to get in a few solid kicks without the chip going off.”  
  
Xander pushed himself up enough to turn around and see the arsewipe. “I wonder if he’s dead.” He didn’t sound too upset about that idea, but then the bastard had kidnapped him after all. No telling what he’d done while they’d been hunting for Xander.  
  
“Xander, are you okay?”  
  
He looked over at Spike and nodded. “Yeah. I’m fine. My throat hurts like hell, but other than that, I’m fine.”  
  
“He didn’t hurt you or anything? Did he touch you?” They’d never seen any mention of that kind of thing in the police reports, but then it was Sunnydale, the PD wasn’t that impressive, they could have missed the more subtle signs of sexual abuse.  
  
He saw Xander’s eyes go wide as he figured out what Spike meant. “Oh, no. Nothing like that. The worst I got from him was a headache from listening to his fat mouth.”  
  
Spike sighed with relief, and Xander wrapped his arms around Spike again, squeezing tightly until Spike let out a rather unmanly yelp as his broken ribs complained. Xander pulled back worriedly.  
  
“Oh, damn. I forgot, he was kicking you! Spike!”  
  
“I’m fine, love. Just don’t jar the ribs too much, all right?”  
  
Xander looked around the room. “Where are we?”  
  
“One of the warehouses down at the shipping yards.”  
  
Xander hauled himself to his feet and checked on the arsewipe. He seemed pretty out of it. Between the bleeding and the shite he’d seen Xander push into his neck, Spike didn’t think he’d be coming around anytime soon.  
  
“Where’s everyone else?”  
  
Xander’s voice was scratchy and hoarse, and he swallowed gingerly.  
  
“Restfield cemetery, I’d say.”  
  
He was barely walking, but Junior started hunting around the one section of the office that seemed to be in use. He looked at the desk, and the computer monitor there, then shuddered and looked quickly away. Searching the nearby tables, he went through the boxes piled on top, frowning.  
  
Spike struggled up, holding onto his ribs, trying to keep the movement to a minimum, and went to see what Junior was up to. Besides, he didn’t like Xander being so close to the bastard, despite the fact that he looked down for the count. It couldn’t hurt for Spike to put his body between the two of them, just in case.  
  
“What are they doing at Restfield?”  
  
“They were having trouble getting a location spell to work on you. The guy was using some kind of cloaking spell or other.”  
  
“After all his attitude over the supernatural? What a jerk. What’s that got to do with Restfield?”  
  
Xander found a case of bottled water, and ripped the plastic apart to get to the bottles with a raspy exclamation. He unscrewed the cap, and took several slow sips, wincing at every swallow.  
  
“The most recent spell came up with two potential locations for you, Restfield and here.”  
  
Getting up from the floor had sapped his strength more than he expected, so he crossed to the desk chair, and sat down gingerly, taking care for his broken ribs. He hoped the Watcher would bring his car with him, he couldn’t see going home in a cab, they both looked a right mess.  
  
Xander set his water down and knelt, gingerly wrapping his arms around Spike’s chest. “So you came to get me by yourself.” He put his head on Spike’s shoulder. “I knew you’d find me.”  
  
Spike stroked his fingers down Xander’s cheek. “Just wasn’t the same without you around the house.”  
  
Xander’s eyes closed and he smiled, tiredly. They sat there for a few minutes, just basking in each other’s presence.  
  
“I’m not willing to hide you anymore, Spike. If Buffy doesn’t like it, she can get stuffed. I realized while I was locked in there that I was done with lies and deceptions. You’re too important to me to hide you away like a dirty secret.”  
  
Spike cleared his throat. “About that ‘secret’ thing, Junior.”  
  
Xander’s head popped up and he searched Spike’s eyes. “You told them? Without me there to protect you?”  
  
“Oi. I’m a big boy,” he said indignantly. “I can defend myself.”  
  
“No, you can’t, Spike. They’re human. You’re completely defenseless against humans.”  
  
“Didn’t matter, anyway, now did it? The Slayer watched us having a bit of a wrestle and a grope that night at Restfield.”  
  
Spike saw Xander recognize the moment they were talking about.  
  
“You thought you heard something as we were leaving. I remember.”  
  
“More like _felt_. But she must have hightailed it out, because the feeling went away, and I decided it was nothing.”  
  
“But she didn’t say anything about it the next night.”  
  
“No, but she was giving us both the eye.”  
  
Xander shuddered, his eyes glancing over at the monitor on the corner of the desk, then away. Spike started to ask about it, but Xander started speaking again.  
  
“What happened?”  
  
“Red let the cat out of the bag. Seems like the only one who didn’t know about it by then was the Watcher.”  
  
Xander cringed. “Oh, I bet that went over well.”  
  
“He wasn’t happy, but there were other things trumping his little hissy fit, like you being missing. You’ll likely have to deal with it when you get settled again.”  
  
“Well, at least I wasn’t trying to keep _just_ him in the dark.”  
  
Spike felt Xander shudder again. He realized Junior was staring at the monitor on the desk, again, so he took a closer look. The monitor showed an empty room, a few bottles of water scattered over the floor. He wasn’t sure what Xander was unhappy over.  
  
Xander saw him looking, got up and grabbed the plug, pulling it out the wall. The screen went dark, but that didn’t seem to be enough. He frowned at the monitor, then swept it off the desk with an angry yell. Spike braced himself for the implosion of the cathode, but luckily it didn’t happen. The plastic casing cracked loudly, but that was it. It seemed sufficient to satisfy Xander.  
  
He went back on his knees next to Spike, holding him carefully. “When are they going to get here? Can we go home, and let them deal with the Monster? I wanna go home.”  
  
“We could call a cab if you want, but we’d have to tie this berk up first. What did you call him? The Monster, was it?”  
  
“He _is_ a monster. He may be human, but he’s more of a monster than any of the demons we fight. He’s a serial killer, Spike. Not some sorcerer or a witch working black magic. An old fashion, mundane serial killer.”  
  
Spiked laughed weakly. “And all that time spent hunting through the Watcher’s books, for nothing.”  
  
“We’ll have to find some rope. Or maybe we could leave him in that room, with a piss bucket, and turn off all the lights. See how he likes it.”  
  
“Oh, love.” It pulled at Spike’s heart to hear Xander’s pain. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”  
  
“It was awful, Spike.” His voice fell to a whisper: “I hate the Monster. He’s more evil than anything I’ve ever known.”  
  
Spike held him as firmly as he could. “It’s over now, love.”  
  
He heard a shuffling noise, but by the time he realized what was happening, it was too late.  
  
  


XXXXXXXXXX

  
  
Spike looks up in surprise right before Xander is suddenly jerked to his feet and then thrown sideways, onto a table. Boxes full of plates and plastic silverware go flying, scattering over the floor. Xander searches for his footing, but the Monster is on him in seconds, one heavy fist pounding into his face while the other holds him down across the table.  
  
Spike pulls the Monster away from Xander and throws him across the room to land heavily on the floor with a thud. Spike shouts with the pain, his hands clutching his head, and Xander rushes to him. His ears are still ringing from the Monster’s blows, and the blood from a split lip drips down his chin. He puts his shoulder under Spike’s arm and gets him vertical, then pushes him down onto the desk chair where he’s relatively safe and out of the way.  
  
When Xander turns around, the Monster is rushing at him with that damned Taser. He doesn’t have time to get out of the way; especially with Spike is in the chair behind him in the line of fire. Xander fakes a move to the right, and the monster lunges where he thinks Xander should be, Xander steps back out of the way, then tackles the monster as he rushes by.  
  
The Monster takes the brunt of the blow, breaking Xander’s fall. His neck is still bleeding, but he’s not trying to move at all, so Xander’s thinking about getting up when he hears Buffy’s voice.  
  
“Wow, Xander. That was… pretty damn impressive!”  
  
“Looks like he did your job for you and took out the bad guy, so why don’t you be a good girl and give the lad a hand up?”  
  
“Hey, watch it fangless!”  
  
Buffy has already reached down to grab his hand, and Xander takes it happily. She hauls him to his feet, and he wraps his arms around her and gives her a huge hug.  
  
“It’s good to see you guys.” He stumbles over to Willow and Tara and gives them a double hug, so he can get them both in at once.  
  
“I must say, Xander, that when Spike said he’d been training you, I was skeptical of the improvement he bragged about seeing in you.”  
  
Xander lets Giles’ words flow over him. He’d been so afraid he’d never see any of them again.  
  
“However, I was very impressed just now. That was a skillful feint. You managed to take care of your opponent with minimal damage to yourself or the wounded person you were protecting.”  
  
Xander grins at Giles. “Thanks G-man.”  
  
“Oi. Not wounded, just a bit nackered is all.”  
  
Tara eyes Spike’ appearance skeptically. “And the blood all over you?”  
  
“Not mine. It mostly belongs to our serial killer, here.”  
  
Giles is the first to find his voice, the others still staring at Spike in confusion. “Did you say _serial killer_?”  
  
Xander's too tired to even try to explain the whole mess. He crosses to where Spike has rolled his chair over to the Monster, and is surreptitiously rifling through his wallet, pocketing the money and credit cards before throwing the much lighter wallet up onto a table.  
  
“I’m exhausted, Giles. Can we do this later?”  
  
“Well, we need to decide how to handle this before you go. There’s much work to do, especially if he’s human. We’ll have to figure out a way to convince the police to lock him up.”  
  
“He’s dead, Rupert.”  
  
“What?” That gets everyone’s attention.  
  
“No heartbeat. It must have been that last fall.” Spike gives Xander a cautious look, probably worried that Xander will freak out over the Monster’s death. He’s sure he’ll have some feelings about the whole thing later, but right now, he’s empty.  
  
“Well, that syringe full of crap I shoved into his neck probably didn’t help any.”  
  
Spike nods. “Or the fact that we threw each other around the room two or three times each.”  
  
Buffy crouches near the body, and feels for a pulse in his neck, the side without the gaping hole in it. She looks up at Giles. “Spike’s right, he’s dead.”  
  
“Oh, Goddess!” Willow looks at Xander with big, sorrowful eyes. “Xander…”  
  
“Don’t worry, Willow. He’s been killing men for a long time, now. It’s way past time someone stopped him.”  
  
“But Xander!”  
  
“The whole reason he came to Sunnydale was because of our outrageously high mortality rate. He thought he’d found the perfect place to commit his crimes.”  
  
“Well, he was wrong.” Spike struggles to his feet, and Xander hurries to help him. “Care to give us a ride home, Rupert? Junior and I have got some celebrating to do – between the sheets.”  
  
Xander blushes. “Spike!”  
  
Buffy sighs heavily as they walk to the door. “We’re never going to hear the last of the Spike and Xander show, are we?”  
  
Spike laughs at her. “Not if I have anything to do with it.”  
  
Xander turns around before they leave the room and stares at the body on the floor. The Monster doesn’t seem that large and scary lying in a pool of his own blood. It’s probably an image that’s going to live with him for a long time, but right now, he’s just glad it’s all over and he can finally go home.  
  
  
  



End file.
